


Dirge

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers - MTMTE
Genre: Con!Wing, Gen, Manipulation, Memory Alteration, Mnemosurgery, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most powerful weapon is a warrior who thinks he has lost everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirge

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains graphic violence in later chapters and near-constant emotional/memory manipulation. This AU is a way for the writer to cope with happenings in their own life which have made them feel abandoned, alone, terrified, and wounded. If themes such as memory manipulation, emotional manipulation, revenge, or physical torture affect you negatively, the writer recommends you do not continue. If you decide to read this anyway, please be aware that the writer does not condone nor take joy in these themes; this is a simply a way for them to purge their own negativity.

_Where once was light; Now **darkness** falls_   
_Where once was love; Love is **no more**_   
_Don’t say goodbye; Don’t say I didn’t **try**_

It was a strange delivery to say the least. Slavers were more used to delivering live cargo…

Not old sarcophagi.

Tarn nodded, running his hand over the relief of a warrior in repose, and waved a hand for the lid to be cracked open. A hiss, and the gathered crowd backed away as he put a pede against the heavy stone lid and SHOVED.

It fell with a groan, to reveal clasped hands over a shattered chestplate. Shuttered optics, soldered closed permanently and a serene expression on a still face.

Tarn’s optics glittered.

“Beautiful.”

A mnemosurgeon, a priest, and a medic with no emblems stepped forward. Tarn looked to them, and waved his hand in a grand gesture at the body in repose.

“Your canvas. Make me a masterpiece.”

Three nods.

The eternity of space witnessed the melding of art and science; hairline welds met with painted lines and a medic’s fingers became as a pianist playing a funeral dirge in reverse; discordant and cacophonous.

Tarn watched the proceedings, watched as flickers of life raced over the form on the surgeon’s table; as limbs and joints were tested, and lenses were replaced and he signed his deal with the devil with a flourish.

No longer bright and colorful, the being upon the table lay bathed in medical light as sensors were attached, as mad scientists worked tirelessly through days and nights that meant nothing in the grand black void they sailed through.

A river Styx made of stars and sin.

And finally, the day came.

“The procedure is experimental. There is no guarantee this can even be done.”

“It will work.”, murmured Tarn, smiling behind his mask, “It will work.”

Dials turned, switched flipped, power hummed through the air and Tarn’s optics dimmed. He joined into the symphony effortlessly, feeling electricity buzzing through the air and they watched the still body twitch on the table.

The mnemosurgeon smiled, pulling away from the helm of his soon-to-be greatest masterpiece and closing it off.

The thunk of a lever, and the slam of power into ever molecule in the room…

And the piercing howl of rebirth.

Optics forced open, cracking the remains of a solder-seam as they flashed static-grey, then, whitish blue, and finally settled into their newest and final color.

A deep humming red; the internals of a forge, the glow of a smelter.

Tarn smiled, his voice raising higher in its level tone until the being on the table vented harshly, expelling gravedust and steam.

Another shriek, and an arm ripped free of its bindings to clutch at a pounding processor. flashes of glitching memory piecing itself back together as a spark thudded, once.

Twice.

Three times.

Twelve, twenty, two hundred and another deep vent. Coolant dripped from new optics as the Cybertronian looked to Tarn, backlit by medical lights and a crackling vocalizer shakily reset.

“Pr-iiiii-mussssss…?”

Tarn’s voice was silent a moment, before a sad sigh slipped from vents.

“No. Not here. Nowhere in space. He has abandoned you; and we have brought you home. Tell me, what is your name?”

The mech blinked as bindings were loosened, as he sat up and trembled, shaking out his plating and turning so that his legs hung off the edge of the slab.

“My name?”

“Yes, warrior. Your name.”

The mech looked up, “Dri… no… No that isn’t my name. That is an important name. But it is not mine?”

“Why is it important. Look to your memories; memory never will fail you.”

Tarn said this with a smile as the mnemosurgeon faded into the background and slipped away.

The mech winced, a hand to his helm as he vented shallowly, “Dri-ft. I remember that name. Deadlock. Da…Dai Atlas.”

They blinked again, “I was… I was a knight?”

“You were, and an honorable one.”

“There was… a battle.”

“Yes. Keep trying… and tell me your name.”

The mech froze.

“My… My memory tells me Drift ended me.”, he whispered, optics beading up again, but this time in anger, “He lured me to battle. Took my life, my title… my weapon.”

Tarn’s smile beneath his mask was wicked, a dragon gazing at his hoard.

The mech looked to him, “I know my name now.”

“Then say it, little flier. Tell me your name.”

“My name is Wing.”

Tarn offered his hand to the newly risen creature.

“Greetings Wing. Welcome back.”

Wing blinked newly crimson’d optics, and took the offered hand; the Decepticon emblem now upon his chestplate dully gleaming a dusky violet.

“Primus abandoned you, Drift destroyed you.”, murmured Tarn, enforcing the manipulated memories in Wing’s resurrected processor, “And I have saved you from fading into memory.”

Wing got to his pedes, shaky and unsteady a moment. He shifted his shoulders, letting his namesake spread and banish dust from his joints.

“He has taken your sword. He has taken your home, your very LIFE.”, said Tarn gravely, “But I… I will return it all to you. On one condition.”

Wing’s optics flickered like a blink.

“Obey me. Serve me. Do as I say and you shall have everything you once lost, little Knight.”

Wing was quiet a moment, and then carefully….

He took a knee, letting his forehelm touch the back of Tarn’s hand.

“As you command, Sir.”

Tarn felt his own spark surge with joy as Wing looked up to him, newly christened as Drift’s own worst enemy…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Somewhere, in the midst of a homecoming celebration, Drift suddenly felt a wave of fear pass through him.


	2. Memento Mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far away, long ago  
> Glowing dim as an ember  
> Things my heart used to know…

Wing sat in the quiet, new paint gleaming from the light of a hundred dim candles and wreathed in the smoke of heavy incense.

He invented deeply, taking in the smell of prayerhouses and releasing his tension as he did so before exventing slowly.

He knelt, head bowed and optics shuttered, not turning his head when he heard the door open. The quick steps caught his audials; the sound of small pedes and short strides.

The doctor.

“Wing?”

“Yes?”

“I hate to interrupt you, but I come bearing gifts.”

He opened his eyes. The small medic smiled at him; and he couldn’t help but return the gesture. She reached out, patting his cheeks.

“That’s my mech.”, she cooed, “Now, the head dimbulb of this outfit-”

“Tarn, miss Nickel.”

“Like I said, head dimbulb in charge of this outfit, asked me to bring these to you. He says that they are not meant as a replacement, more of a lending. I also have word of your first mission.”

Wing nodded, optics bright as he watched the minimedic unsling the carrier from her shoulders as she continued to speak, “The Lost Light was seen headed for an out of the way outpost not long ago. Drift is confirmed to be aboard once again. Your first mission is to retrieve your TRUE weapon.”

“The Greatsword.”

“Yes.”, said Nickel with a resolute little nod, “You are to retrieve that, and bring it back to us for us to give it a good once over to be sure Drift hasn’t modified it. We’d hate for something to happen to you again. ESPECIALLY once I got all those dents and dings out of you ONCE already.”

Wing’s smile grew at her gentle scolding.

“You are to initiate combat ONLY if you are attacked, do you understand?”, she warned, “You’re getting up to speed, but you still have a ways to go.”

Wing nodded eagerly.

“Seeing as Drift wields two blades as well as your greatsword, we’ve tried to match you up the best we can. Now, come here so I can make sure this holster piece fits against your thigh before I have to beat somebot with it.”

“Miss Nickel, I don’t think-”

“I may be the size of your supper but don’t think I won’t box the audials of any mech on this ship now.”, she warned, shaking the holster attachment at him, “I know how you warrior types work and if you get fragged up beyond repair by PRIMUS will there be some reparations. With something blunt and heavy.”

He couldn’t help but snicker at her words.

“Yuk it up, jet, but remember its your ankle bearings if you end up ruining all my hard work.”

She bustled around him, humming and singing to herself, before pausing.

“Wing?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Do you know any songs?”

“… I remember a few. None are as chipper as yours however.”

“Oh?”

“Most of them are dirges. Songs of mourning.”

“Ah, but isn’t it suffering that begets art? Or some such nonsense, Tarn said that once I believe. I’d like to hear one.”

“I don’t remember the exact words.”

“Then hum, dear.”, she said matter of factly.

“My voice is rather low, I don’t want to bother you-”

“I can handle Tarn yowling and whistling alternately, I can handle a bit of a baritone. Now hum dear, like there’s a willing spike in your intake.”

Wing choked on an exvent at the cheery way the lewd metaphor bubbled from the medic before coughing softly. A soft whistle as he pulled air in, and he began to hum along to the mourning song he remembered clearest of all. Nickel paused, simply listening with a dreamy expression on her faceplates as her servos moved automatically.

Wing felt the rise of music within him, form somewhere dark and painful as a flash of light made his death replay before his eyes. Without him willing it, his lipplates began to form words the rose unbidden from his spark.

“Very nice, dear.”

He jerked out of his trance, and she patted his leg, “You’re set. Prepare yourself, we drop you soon… And your song was lovely.”

“Thank you, Miss Nickel.”

She smiled warmly at him yet again, a vicious glint in her optics, “Bring back a nice souvenir, would you?”

His optics flashed wickedly. A com beeped in, and he answered.

“Yes Sir.”

“Wing, it is time.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Report to the main hatch. Move quickly. We have the cover of darkness only so long.”

“Of course.”

Nickel watched as sheaths were taken up by a warrior’s hands and he stood, fastening them at his hips. He bowed to her, and she giggled at his show of respect; giving a wobbly curtsy before he took his leave.

He arrived at his destination quickly, to see Tarn waiting for him. A heavy hand was placed on his shoulder, and Tarn sounded nearly worried whenhe spoke again, “We can put this off, if you feel we need to. I do not wish for you to push yourself to hard, after all; rebirth is no easy voyage.”

Wing looked coldly at his new Lord, “No. This must be done. I won’t have a murderer carrying a weapon of honor.”

Tarn smiled behind his mask, optics gleaming in some kind of pride, “That’s what I like to hear. Now go, reclaim what is yours.”

Wing nodded, and turned on his heel as the heavy hatch opened. And he slipped through into the night.

Perceptor and Drift were on watch; one of many they took together. A habit from the Wreckers. Perceptor watched from his perch, rifle primed and at the ready as Drift patrolled the ground. They checked in occasionally; lewd jokes and all… and everything felt normal.

And then-

::Percy, do me a favor; two points north, zoom in, tell me what you see.::

Perceptor focused his scope, lining it up with the rifles and focusing where he was directed before answering, “…I don’t see anything. Maybe its just the night sky playing tricks on you; starlight is funny that way.”

::Going to check it out.::

Perceptor watched Drift’s figure jogging towards the point he focused on and sighed. The swordsmech could be such a worrywart. He looked away and began to fiddle with a datapad.

Wing crouched, lying in wait. He knew Drift would have caught the glimmer of the blade he had briefly raised, and no doubt his curiosity would lead him to investigate.

He watched, and he waited; a predator on the hunt and the samurai moved closer and closer, finials flicking.

Percpetor returned to glancing through the scope, and that’s when he saw it. The dime reddened glow of optics near the exploring Drift.

:: DRIFT GET OUT OF THERE, I REPEAT GET OUT OF THERE NOW!:: was the frantic comm, but it was too late.

Wing struck fast and hard, bulling into Drift and pinning him easily with his face against the soil. Wing dug his servos into Drift’s back, gripping the anchor piece as well as the Greatsword, and he heaved.

Drift yowled in pain as plating cracked and the clasp came away with the snapping of anchoring cables. Wing smiled victoriously, getting to his pedes with his grip firmly on the stolen chunk of steel still clasped around the weapon and Drift rolled with a wheeze- and froze.

“W-Wing.”

“Yes.”

And with that, he turned to leave.

Drift scrambled to sit up, wincing hard when his back twinged in pain, and held out a hand to catch onto Wing’s calfstrut.

“Wing, wait, I thought- Wing there’s no way-”

Fury rose in the revived Knight, and he whirled, slamming a pede into Drift’s jaw and setting the samurai jerking to the side. Wing advanced, shoving Drift back onto his elbows with a pede to a white shoulder and he drew a blade form one of his hip scabbards.

“You thought wrong.”, was the hiss, “You, who left me for dead, who brought my home to ruin; who stole my title, my right, my very LIFE from me-”

He glared down, optics burning bright as his grip on the hilt of the shortsword tightened.

“And I have returned to take it all back.”

Wing slammed the shortsword down, piercing Drift’s thigh at the thickest section. The shriek from the white swordsmech echoed alongside the sound of shearing cables and snapping struts, and Wing moved his hand to draw the other sword when the ping of his helm being clipped by a bullet sounded. HE turned, seeing Perceptor standing tall and furious, a pistol whispering smoke.

“Put down you arms, Decepticon.”, hissed the ex-Wrecker, “Or the next one is between your optics.”

Wing raised his hands as though in surrender as Drift yowled in pain once again. As Perceptor lowered the handgun, Wing moved quickly.

Once again, his footwork came into play and he swung a kick at the hilt of the sword piercing Drift’s thigh, it sliced with the whine f shearing metal and the energon pooling beneath Drift’s leg began to spread at an alarming rate.

And, as expected, Perceptor darted to Drift’s side to staunch the flow, comming for Ratchet as Drift snarled and writhed from the pouding pain overtaking his processor.

Neither noticed the figure of Wing vanish into the fading night.

Tarn looked up as Wing returned, bearing the greatsword in one hand and a splatter of energon at his waist.

“I see you were successful.”

“I was, Sir.”

“Very good. Hand off the greatsword to Nickel, and she will take care of any repairs necessary to it. Of course, you are welcome to watch over the procedure.”

Wing bowed.

“Was there any… incidents?”

“Yes. I was accosted by a gunner with an optic scope.”

“Ah, Perceptor. A one-time Wrecker.”

“Wrecker, Sir?”

“Autobots; moralless and cruel. They are sent in to obliterate all that lies before them without mercy… Drift slummed around with them not long after abandoning you to Death’s doorstep.”

Wing’s face grew tight in anger.

“That is one of the reasons we worry over your weapon. Primus knows what it was used for during Drift’s stint with such cold and callous mechs. Who knows what cruelties he commited…”, Tarn shook his helm, voice taking a mournful tinge, “So glorious a weapon, used for such… such…”

“Atrocity.”

“Yes, exactly that. I could not have said it better myself. Go now, rest. You have done well. Soon you will be completely restored to your former glory.”

Wing was quiet, before he looked to Tarn’s masked face, “Sir, may I request something?”

“Of course. What is it you need, my Knight?”

“It is not so much a need… But, a desire. Of sorts.”

“Yes?”

“The Wrecker fired upon me. Threatened me. I should like to have permission to return the favor, should the opportunity arise.”

Tarn seemed to consider it for a moment, before nodding, “Its… only fair, I suppose. He is one of the ones who helped lead Drift ever further astray; it stands to reason that his comeuppance come from the same place as Drift’s. You have my permission.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Tarn watched Wing walk away, wings twitching, and smiled to himself.

“Oh! Wing, one more thing…”

Wing paused, turning, “Yes Sir?”

“You ARE aware of who the Captain of the Lost Light is, correct? The one Drift serves under?”

“No Sir.”

“…Megatron himself.”

Wing’s face broke into a shocked expression, “Megatron…? Wasn’t… wasn’t he-”

“The Leader of the Decepticons, yes. He abandoned his followers to the tides of war and joined the Autobots and now exterminates those he once led. And Drift again serves under his banner.”

“…After all that time… All those promises…”

“I’m sorry, Wing. It seems your affections were wasted upon that particular friendship.”

“..But we wear the Decepticon emblem.”

“We do; because we uphold the true cause.”, said Tarn gravely, “We seek to free Cybertronians from the tyrannous regime the Autobots have molded themselves into. The very thing they claimed to prevent they have become.”

Wing was quiet, but Tarn could see the fury building within the flier.

“I see. May I be dismissed?”

“You may. Recharge well, Wing. You have made us proud.”

Tarn watched his newest warrior stalk away with his servos clenched into fists.


	3. Conniving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all the kids cried out,  
> “Please stop, you’re scaring me”  
> I can’t help this awful energy  
> Goddamn right, you should be scared of me  
> Who is in control?

His namesake twitched, swaying with every step and every turn as he paced back and forth. Red optics glared holes in the floor as Tarn watched him.

_“I want you to make a plan.”  
_

_“Sir?”  
_

_“I want you to think, look deep within your processor and I want to hear how you plan to destroy Drift and his crew.”_

Wing paced, and paced… and then paused. Tarn watched in wonder as a slow grin curled over Wing’s faceplates; he watched his Knight like a mother proudly watches a son.

“Have you created a plan of action?”

“The beginnings of one, I believe.”

Tarn settled in his seat, and waved a hand for Wing to begin. The broken Paladin began pacing once again as he spoke hands gesturing aniatedly as optics glittered.

“Physical death is a goal, but it is ineffective against a being of Drift’s physical and spiritual caliber. He has survived to much, his will to live is far too strong.”

“Go on.”

“But this is his downfall; Drift does not yet live for himself, as I tried to teach him. Oh, how I tried, but no, he insists on placing his faith in the mortal and easily destroyed…”, Wing glared to the side, his processor playing back the memories it held. If only he knew how they had been tampered with.

Tarn smiled behind his mask.

“For Drift to stay dead, you must remove anything he wishes to live for.”, said Wing quietly, “From what I have seen in the records on him you have kept, Sir, he has many friends… But he has three reasons to live.”

“Go on.”

“The mech who seems to fill the position of AMica, though unofficially: Rodimus.”

Wing counted off the names on his servos, and lifted another, “The ex-Wrecker with whom he had a brief, and possibly rekindling, romance with: Perceptor.”

Tarn nodded, nearly giddy as he listened.

“And foremost, the medic who saved him all those eons ago in the Dead End. Ratchet.”

“These are all good points, but what does it all mean?”

“He stole my home. He stole my title. My honor, My LIFE itself.”

The gem on the Greatsword mounted upon Wing’s back glimmered like a UV light as Wing spoke with hatred in his voice, with anger and wrath swirling through him like a miasma.

“I shall return the favor.”, said Wing softly, “Perceptor no doubt still does patrols; Ultra Magnus is upon that ship, and he has worked with the particular Wrecker once before. He will be the first to go missing. Rodimus will be next.”

“And Ratchet?”

“Two missing mechs will draw Drift out, angry and vengeful. Ratchet will no doubt follow him as some form of guardian; thinking he can shield Drift from his sins.”

Tarn laughed low, “You will use the first two as live bait to gain the third and your target. Simple, yet effective. And then what?”

“And then, once more, Drift will be offered a choice by a Knight of New Crystal City.”, said Wing with a hiss to his voice, “And I will make him watch as I once did as every reason he has to live is taken from him. And he will be powerless to stop it.”

“I dare say you have the start of it. But what next, what will you do  when these mechs are offlined?”

Wing laughed then, and Tarn felt a chill down his backstrut.

“And then you will have four more knights. Bring them back as you did for me, and make them into warriors for the cause. Watch morale fade from the rest of the crew as their beloved Captain and comrades tear them apart.”

“But what of Megatron?”

“He is not my enemy. But he is yours. He will be brought to you for his fate to be decided, Sir. If you wish.”

Tarn raised his hands, and brought them together in slow applause.

“Excellent, my Knight. Excellent. Think longer on your plots and schemes, and alert me to what you will need. And then we shall begin.”

Tarn stood, and Wing bowed until the DJD leader had left the room. When the door hissed shut behind him, Wing moved to the window to star out at dim stars and distant galaxies.

The gem upon his weapon flickered weakly.


	4. Real and Present Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell the world I’ll su rv iv e  
> Tell the world I’m a l i v e

“And I’M telling YOU, it was WING.”

Ratchet sighed, finishing the repairs to Drift’s damaged thigh. The swordsmech stared at him, furious at the medic’s doubt.

Perceptor stood off to the side, watching the exchange.

“Drift, I’ll tell you again. Wing has been gone for how long now? With a cracked or even shattered spark, he drained out on the battlefield; you’e told me this story.”

“And I’m telling you, somehow, some way, he’s back.”, babbled Drift, “It was him, I spoke to him; its his voice, his stride, his attack patterns, everything. There isn’t a damn mech alive who could outmaneuver me, not like him. It. Was. Wing.”

Ratchet stood straight, and glared now, “Drift, clearly this is shock talking; you lost a lot of energon from your injury and for all you know you could have HALLUCINATED it.”

“I DIDN’T!”

“Drift, there is no sane or probable way to have brought Wing back from the dead; do you REALIZE the kind of outrageous abilities that would require?!”

“YOU’VE brought mechs back from being offlined-”

“Yes, but they had only been offline moments, a few kliks at most.”

Perceptor cleared his throat, “Ratchet. Assuming one had the appropriate materials… could a cracked or shattered spark be repaired?”

“Ye,s but that isn’t the problem. There’s no guarantee it would work, for one. And the sheer volume of power you would need to jumpstart it could end up shattering it again; all this aside, this is HYPOTHETICAL AND UNPROVEN.”

“When discussing hypothetical sciences, we need a hypothetical scientist.”, said Perceptor simply, “And one who knows the Cons moreso than we do.”

Ratchet threw his hands in the air with an annoyed noise as Perceptor commed for Brainstorm to report to the medibay.

When the Deceptcon Scientist arrived, he snickered quietly, “If I’M being called, something truly outrageous must have happened. Has the universe inverted itself? Is time travel involved?”

Perceptor rolled his optic.

Brainstorm waggled his servos, “Have the dead risen from their graves? OooooOOOOOoooooh…”

“Actually, yes.”

“…What.”

Drift sighed, “The mech who attacked me was Wing. Wing was my.. rehabilitator in New Crystal City, and has been dead for… a long time.”

Brainstorm grew serious, “Go on.”

“He’s flying Decepticon sigils now, paintjob inverted to a darker scheme and seems to be under the impression that its MY fault he was killed, that the City fell.”

Brainstorm nodded, “How did he die?”

“Stabbed through the spark.”

“What weapon was used?”

“A spear.”

“Cybertronian?”

“No.”

Brainstorm pondered, “Hmmmmm… The sheer amount of power and materials required would be astronomical-”

“THAT’S WHAT I JUST SAID-”

“-Assuming it was all applied at once.”, finished Brainstorm, glaring at Ratchet, “However, if there was a way to slowly, for lack of a better term, coax it then theoretically you would be able to restart even a badly damaged spark.”

“And are there any Cons with this kind of ability?”

“Just one. Tarn himself.”

Ratchet scoffed, “The loudmouth DJD leader, right. Last time I checked, he spoke sparks to EXTINCTION, which is something of the opposite to what he would need to do.”

“Ah, but Ratchet, you forget. A charge can stop a spark, yes, but it can also restart it.”, said Brainstorm giddily, “Assuming he could figure out the exact frequency the awakening spark was on, he could, IN THEORY, simply reverse his vocal ability. Instead of singing a low scale, he sings a higher one. A zombification crescendo.”

Ratchet stared at him.

“So that very well could have been Wing; or at least Wing’s shell with a new spark placed into it, somehow combined with the shards of Wing’s once-dead spark. Throw in a little shadowplay and creative speechmaking, and you have a one-hundred percent zombie soldier under your control.”

“Assuming this is what was attempted, how do we defend against it?”

“Hell if I know, I’m not too fond of the dead. Rather ooey and gooey for my tastes.”

Perceptor turned to Drift, “Any ideas.”

“If I knew how to beat Wing, do you REALLY think I would have been stuck in NCC as long as I was?”, hissed the samurai, “All we can do is fortify and pray to whatever Deity is left that he either drops dead again or abandons this cause.”

Perceptor nodded, “I will alert the Captains.”

“I’ll be in the farthest training room.”

“You will not!”, snapped Ratchet, “Your leg was badly damaged; I can’t, in good faith, let you risk injuring it further.”

“Oh, so I suppose you lot are going to be able to handle one of the best Knights the NCC had to offer, who routinely tossed me INTO and THROUGH walls like I was a sack of bolts, right?”, said Drift in a tone like acid rain.

They watched as he slid off the medical berth and limped away before looking at each other. Ratchet heaved a sigh.

“Never a dull moment on this wild goose chase.”

======================================

Later that evening, the Lost Light docked once again to restock their larders and medbay. Patrols were upped in frequency and amount, and Perceptor remained on a sniper’s perch by order of Ultra Magnus.

Rodimus yawned, staring out over the silent dockyard before pushing himself to stand. He glanced over to see Megatron and Magnus deep in conversation, and grinned.

He hated being cooped up like this.

With quick and quiet steps, he snuck by them and further still until he could take a running start, dropping into his altmode and gunning his engines.

Now this was MUCH better. Better than sitting like a sparkling in a carecenter-

And then a shadow loomed over him, and faded away. He gunned his engine harder, veering off to an outcropping of heavy granite boulders before switching modes once again.

He peered into the surrounding emptiness, and tentatively called out, “Who;s there, show yourself!”

“Happily, Captain.”

He turned, and didn’t even have a chance to to speak.

================================================

Drift walked up to the ex-Warlord and the Enforcer, looking around.

“Oi, you two, where’s Roddy? I was gonna see if he wanted to be my partner on patrol; he gets antsy when he sits too long.”

“He was right over there last we saw.”

“He isn’t now.”, said Drift cautiously, seeing the sudden strike of fear on Magnus’s face, “…You don’t think he…”

Magnus was already on his comm, demanding a report from anyone and everyone available. The hunt was on, and Drift and Magnus were in the lead of the search party as it circled farther and farther from the Lost Light until they found the clue they needed.

Drift stared at the splatter of energon on the heavy granite monoliths, the chunk of yellow plating leaned up against the stone.

“Is that…?”

“Part of his spoiler.”, said Drift quietly, “Wing has Rodimus. Which means-”

“TARN has Rodimus.”, breathed Magnus. His hands trembled, “This is no longer a hypothetical situation, this is now an emergency and one the crew is incapable of handling.”

“What do we do?”

“What Autobots always do when its snafu’d.”, said Magnus with a hiss, “We call in the Wreckers.”

Once again, on the comms and Magnus growled out, “Magnus to Perceptor. Its time to drop your science act for a while. Weapon up and rendezvous at my coordinates.”

::Shall I bring the Whirling Dervish himself?::

“Yes. You and WHirl then, meet me here. You two and Drift are being sent in on a search and rescue.”

::How do we know where to go, Mags?:: chimed Whirl on the comm.

“Wing left us directions.”

The splatters were smeared in the glyphs for coordinates, and Magnus’s hands were shaking in fury.

::We running and gunning here, or babysitting until you come to put them in time out?:: asked Perceptor coolly.

“Consider it a cleanup job.”

::NOW we’re talkin’, those are the best ones!::

====================================

Ratchet stopped Perceptor and Whirl as they attempted to slip unnoticed out of sight and mind.

“You idiots aren’t going anywhere without me.”, said Ratchet frigidly, “Knowing the DJD, knowing TARN, Rodimus is goig to be in hellish shape when you find him, and there’s no guarantee whether of you will be able to keep him stable.”

“Fine.”, said Perceptor, “So long as you don’t fall behind.”

“Oh, you’d leave me in the dust?”

“Should Wing have the misfortune of finding me before Whirl, I don’t think you’ll want to be PRESENT for what I will do to him.”

Whirl snickered, a tinny sound echoing from his chest, “Now theeeere’s the Percy I know. No mercy, no quarter, and zero fraggin’ tolerance.”


End file.
